Yams
by zsp
Summary: Set within Season 3 Episode 2, before finishing off between Seasons 3 & 4. Hours before their first real date, Martin decides to buy Louisa a 'romantic' gift. The resulting crisis teaches the couple important lessons about each other and what's truly important.
1. Chapter 1

**Yams**

**Set within Season 3 Episode 2 "The Morning After" ("Movement" in the UK) and between seasons 3 & 4**

**_Buffalo Pictures owns the "Doc Martin" TV series, and all credit goes to them and all the people who make the show what it is. _**

**_I don't own any rights to "Doc Martin," and aren't making any money off it._**

**Much thanks to those of you who have given me feedback on this story, both Visitors and Members, and those of you who have favorited and followed this story. I deeply appreciate it!**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Martin 's brain was swarming with thoughts vying for his attention as he silently walked down the street, hardly noticing the glances and snickers he received from bystanders noting his awkward gait and his furrowed brow.

One of his patients, a young 15-year old girl, had asked him for the birth control pill. She seemed to think it would make her develop faster. Where did people get these ideas anyway. Though he thought she was an idiot, he couldn't help but worry about her. The mobs of teenage girls in the village could be cruel, and he remembered being bullied as a child. And who knows what a desperate 15-year old might do to prove her 'maturity.'

Then there was Bert Large. A plumber-and one whose ineptitude for cooking he had had seen firsthand-running a _restaurant_? No doubt he didn't even follow basic food safety procedures. And who would be left to deal with the dozens of miserable patients infected with botulism and salmonella?

And then...there was Louisa. His expression softened somewhat at the thought. After he had met her profession of love with the implication that she was a serial stalker, called her father a thief, clumsily mishandled the recent hostage crisis, and nearly drove her to switch to the Wadebridge clinic through his inquisitiveness, he'd thought he'd probably blown it. Then, a few days ago-almost out of the blue-she'd hinted that she wanted a relationship with him. But Louisa was so changeable, and he told himself that perhaps he had misunderstood. For a few days there had been nothing but a glance now and then, each person waiting for the other to make a move that never came.

And then, this morning, Louisa had managed to fandangle him into having dinner at her place. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. Finally, he would be able to spend some time with Louisa, with no children running around, no patients haranguing them, no Bert Large complaining about his midlife crisis. Just him and Louisa. It was quite a pleasant feeling.

A sign in the window of the grocer's caught his eye. "Purple Yams for Sale."

Purple yams? In Portwenn? He had to see for himself. He marched through the door and straight to a bin of purple-hued tubers slightly longer than a potato. "_Dioscorea alata_," he said to himself. When he was in South East Asia he had run across this delicious variety of yam, much smaller than the bulky African yams often sold in Caribbean markets in the UK, and bearing very little relation to the orange "sweet potatoes" favored by Americans. Truth be told, it was one of his favorite foods, exotic though it was. But Martin rarely indulged in luxuries he couldn't justify as part of his job.

Suddenly, it occurred to him. Louisa! Yams are rich in nutrients, especially Potassium but also a fair amount of Iron. She was trying to eat Iron-rich foods because of her anemia-yams would be perfect!

He carefully selected a few choice yams, bagged them and brought them to the cashier.

"Buying some yams for yourself I see," the cashier inquired, to Martin's chagrin. "Not many as like those, Doc, so I'm glad to get rid of them, if you catch my drift."

The statement irritated Martin. Louisa was not like many of the people in the village, he told himself. Surely she would appreciate the yams.

"They're not for me. They're for a friend..." His voice faded out as he realized his mistake.

"Oh, for Miss Glasson, then?" The cashier laughed. "Nothing more romantic than a couple of yams."

"That's none of your business."

"All I'm sayin' Doc is that you'd be better off buying her a bouquet or some chocolates." He lowered his voice to a whisper "The girl is partial to her chocolates, she is."

Martin's face wrinkled in disgust at what he could only interpret as a sales ploy. "Empty calories!" he said, dismissively. "Just the yams...please."

He paid and marched out the door, heading straight to the Surgery.

As he approached the bottom of the hill, he slowed down. Perhaps the cashier was right. Yams were rather an ugly-looking vegetable, and he'd always heard that flowers and chocolates, overly-flamboyant and decadent though they might be, were a classic romantic gift favored by women across the socioeconomic spectrum. And Louisa _was_ a woman.

"Hmmph," he grunted and marched back up the hill.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Buffalo Pictures owns the "Doc Martin" TV series, and all credit goes to them and all the people who make the show what it is. _**

**_I don't own any rights to "Doc Martin," and aren't making any money off it._**

**Thanks again to those of you who have given me feedback on this story, both Visitors and Members, and those of you who have favorited and followed this story. I deeply appreciate it!**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

What do you mean you can't sell me any flowers?" Martin looked around the florist's shop. The shelves were overflowing with floral arrangements. He had only minor allergies to pollen, but he'd actually been concerned the overbearing presence of blooming plants would set them off.

"Cash register's not working."

"Well, for goodness sakes man, use a calculator!"

"Don't have one!"

"You don't have one? What century do you think this is? When exactly did you people leave the caves and stop building houses out of mastodon bones?"

The florist looked peeved. "The calculator I had _broke_. _Yesterday_."

"Oh. Right."

"Been terrible for business."

"I'd imagine," Martin said disgustedly, walking out the door.

Why was everyone in this town so...unhelpful? He frowned slightly. It looked like he was going to have to swallow his pride and see the grocer about those chocolates. 'She'd better appreciate this,' he thought, clenching his teeth.

The grocer waved to him as he came back in.

"Back so soon, Doc?"

"Yes."

"What can I help you with this time? More yams?"

Martin scowled. "No. I'm not certain you actually can help me," he said, a bit condescendingly. "Where are your chocolates?"

The grocer laughed knowingly. "Thought twice about showing up at the door with a bag o' yams did ya?"

From behind a row of shelves waddled the old fisherman who'd run Martin off the road not long after he moved to town. Martin still wasn't sure of the name. Tom? Ralph? Geoffrey? No matter. He rarely came to the Surgery.

"Finally makin' a move, Doc? Good man." Martin rolled his eyes. "You know there's nothing that will win over a woman's heart like..."

"Shut up!"

The fisherman and the grocer stiffened, the smiles disappearing from their faces.

"_Do you or do you not have any chocolates!_?"

"Let me check," the cashier said, drained of all enthusiasm. He looked at the inventory list. Martin rolled his eyes.

"Quickly, if you don't mind."

The man looked up. "Nope, seems I sold the last box of chocolates a few minutes ago. One of them heart-shaped ones too. Five varieties. Excellent gift for any lady friend."

"So you don't have _any_ chocolates?"

"Not as such..."

"Do you know where I _can find _any chocolates, bouquets, or any other romantic clap-trap within _50 miles_ of Portwenn?"

"There's a Desco in Padstow and another in Wadebridge," the cashier suggested, doubtfully.

"Thank you," Martin said, his voice betraying anything but gratitude.

The supermarket at Padstow was packed with afternoon shoppers by the time Martin entered it at a near run. He quickly ran to the sweeties aisle, only to be greeted with bare shelves. He ran to the check-out line. Not so much as a candy bar. Unbelievable. He cut in front of the other people in line, to a hail of protests and confronted the heavily pierced teenage cashier.

"Wha' are ya' thinkin' buttin' in fron' o' e'ryone?" she asked in tone irritatingly similar to Elaine's.

"Do you have any chocolates in this establishment?"

"Wha' do I look like? I don' know."

"Well, can you please find out!"

She rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. She grabbed a phone near the register.

"Walter needed at Aisle 8. Walter at Aisle 8."

Martin tapped his foot impatiently.

"Can you please move outta the way so these folks can get checked out?" the cashier asked, her voice dripping with attitude.

Martin scooted over a few feet, a deep scowl on his face.

"Tosser," the cashier whispered loudly to the next customer, who nodded in agreement.

It was 10 minutes before Walter arrived.

"Do you need some 'elp sir?"

"You must be _Walter_?"

"Yes," the young, lanky man said with a decidedly Cornish accent. He pointed to his nametag.

"Well, _Walter_, I am trying to find a box of chocolates. Can you help me? Or shall I call out the Coast Guard?"

" 'Ave a date tonight, do we?" Walter said, grinning pathetically. Martin couldn't help but notice a few teeth missing.

"None of your business! For the third time, _do you have any chocolates!_?'

"I'm afraid we're in the process of replacing our inventory..."

"Replacing your inven-...!?"

"All chocolate products have to be Fair Trade Cer'ified now. Company Policy."

"Not very _fair_ to your customers now, is it?" Martin said bitterly. "What about flowers, do have any of those?'

"Garden Department's closed. Even if it was open, all we have are potted plants."

Martin muttered something unpleasant under his breath.

"Was that 'elpful sir?"

"Helpful!?" Martin roared. "Oh yes, _very_ helpful!" Martin said sarcastically. "Maybe while you're at it you could help yourself to..._an iota..._of common sense."

He started to walk away, then turned back around to face Walter.

"Oh, and do yourself a favor and pick up some proper mouthwash at your chemist."


	3. Chapter 3

**_Buffalo Pictures owns the "Doc Martin" TV series, and all credit goes to them and all the people who make the show what it is. _**

**_I don't own any rights to "Doc Martin," and aren't making any money off it.  
_****  
Thanks again to those of you who have given me feedback on this story, both Visitors and Members, and those of you who have favorited and followed this story. I deeply appreciate it!**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

_"I've brought you these," Martin said, crouching in Louisa's diminutive doorway, He held up a paper bag. Louisa's eyes lit up. Something savory from the pub no doubt. Or perhaps some hand-made sweeties from that shop in Delabole. How charming and uncharacteristic of Martin! Perhaps this was his romantic side showing. If he had one. Or maybe she was rubbing off on him. She decided it was the latter. She looked at Martin, her eyes inquiring what was in the bag._

_"They're yams. A rich source of iron." Yams. About as dull as you can get. Why hadn't she seen this coming?_

_"Right. I'll just put these in some water," she'd said, trying hard not to look ungrateful._

Looking back now, she regretted her dismissiveness a little. At least he'd actually thought to buy her a gift, a very practical gift at that. To be sure, Martin had the social awareness of a...well, he really didn't have any. First the yams. Surely even _he_ should have realized there's nothing remotely romantic about yams. Then the fuss at Bert's restaurant. Bert would never forgive them. As lax as Bert's standards might be, he probably didn't deserve to be virtually shut down. And the real kicker: the request for the stool sample. She couldn't help smiling, thinking of that moment. She'd been so wound up, hoping he'd say something nice, something romantic. And, she suspected that he almost had. Like so many times before, she could almost see the words on the tip of his tongue, yet he seemed to lose the nerve to say them.

"Oh Martin," she said out loud. Her phone suddenly buzzed. An e-mail. She was always in the habit of checking her e-mails as soon as she saw them. Otherwise, she'd be buried in the deluge of messages from organizations, parents, fellow teachers, school governors and educational bulletins. But this one was different. It was from Martin.

'Why on earth would Martin send me an e-mail?' she wondered. It wasn't really his way. He _was_ a governor, but he'd never taken much interest in the school, for medical reasons-or to see her, for that matter. She thought of Martin's statement the one night she'd managed to intoxicate him. Plenty of times, he could simply have called her, or even passed a message along through other means. But usually he'd come to see her in person.

Just yesterday, he'd sprinted across town to see her, when all she wanted was some medical advice.

Perhaps he wanted to 'catch a glimpse' of her. She smiled warmly. It was a pleasant thought.

She opened the e-mail.

**Dear Louisa,**

**I believe I owe you an apology for the mishap during our dinner the other night. Human blood can harbor a variety of dangerous pathogens including Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Hepatitis B & C, a plethora of viral hemorrhagic fevers, even West Nile virus. Thus the oral consumption of human blood or any bodily fluids is extremely hazardous. On top of this, the state of Bert's kitchen was unsanitary and did not meet even basic food safety regulations. I could easily have had him shut down under the Food Standards Act of 1999.**

**Just the same, I'm afraid I rather ruined things. Perhaps sometime in the future I can make it up to you.**

**I've attached a recipe I found for those yams. They're a rarer variety, originating in South East Asia, and when cooked right, have an appealing flavor. They're chock full of nutrition so they should help alleviate both you're anemia and your food poisoning.**

**Wish you the best,**

**_Dr. Martin Ellingham_**

**_General Practitioner-Portwenn_**

She shook her head. Martin never ceased to surprise her. She knew it wasn't easy for him to apologize, and yet he had taken time out of his busy day to do just that. And somehow the yams, the constant medical advice, even his attempt to diagnose her bad breath now started to make some sense. She remembered Martin once saying that the medical profession was the only thing he was ever good at. Maybe this was his way of showing his affection, by caring for her the only way he felt he knew how.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Buffalo Pictures owns the "Doc Martin" TV series, and all credit goes to them and all the people who make the show what it is. _**

**_I don't own any rights to "Doc Martin," and aren't making any money off it._**

**Thanks again to those of you who have given me feedback on this story, both Visitors and Members, and those of you who have favorited and followed this story. I deeply appreciate it!**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Louisa wasn't sure precisely what medicine Martin had given her-the stool sample request had completely driven it out of her mind. But whatever it was, she felt much better. It'd been a lovely day, blue skies, a light breeze. Her students had been surprisingly engaged in their lessons, and even the most disruptive had shown some promise today. As Martin had suggested, the yam recipe had been delicious and she felt much more energetic and clear-headed than she'd felt a few days ago. On her way home from school, she decided to but some nice-smelling flowers to freshen up the air in her house. She selected a beautiful bouquet, and headed to the cashier.

"Hello Miss Glasson!"

"Oh, hello David! Gorgeous day today isn't it?"

"Almost makes the long winter we had worth it," he smiled. "By the way, I saw your man in here the other day trying to buy some flowers."

"_My_ _man_?" she asked. They'd only been on one 'date,' if it could even be called that. Why did everyone around here always have to jump to conclusions?

"Ya know...the Doc."

"Martin was in here buying _flowers_?"

"Well, no, you see...he never got that far." Her surprised expression faded. Martin had probably created some fuss or was called away to some medical emergency.

The florist noticed her disappointment. "Wasn't his fault. The cash register wasn't working. He got a bit worked up. Left in a bit of a huff."

"Oh," she said, a little surprised that Martin would be so determined on buying her flowers.

Syringes at the pharmacy? Yes.

Lab results from Truro? Absolutely.

Flowers for Louisa? She was shocked he'd even thought of them.

She paid and left the store. 'I should pick up some items at the grocer's before I go home' she thought to herself. She'd just about exhausted her supply of vegetables, what with her iron-rich diet and all. Certainly there were no more yams left.

After bagging a fresh head of broccoli and a few potatoes she walked up to the cash register.

The grocer was often long-winded, so she rarely paid a whole lot of attention to what he said. But today he had an interesting tale to tell.

"You're Doc Martin was in here a few days ago, making a big fuss."

"What makes you think he's _my_ Doc Martin?"

"Oh come on Louiser, everyone knows about you and the Doc. It's plain to see. It's practically written on your face plain as day right this moment." She fiddled with her purse zipper, trying desperately to look disinterested.

"At any rate, it was _you_ the Doc was making a fuss about."

"Oh...really?" He had her attention now. What had Martin been complaining about? Had she unwittingly broken another of his unwritten medical rules?

"Well, he never _actually_ admitted it was for you, but he was trying very hard to buy some chocolates. But I'd just sold out. Settled for some yams instead." She laughed, and finished paying for her purchase. At least he'd tried.

"Did he ever find those chocolates? I told him you were partial too them, sent 'im over to Padstow to try to find some."

She grinned mischievously. All the way to Padstow. Quite a drive that was for a man who purportedly hated driving.  
"Actually, I'm becoming quite a fan of those purple yams," she said, ignoring the grocer's question. "When will you have some more in?"

"Have some on sale right now, actually."

When Louisa left several minutes later, she was carrying a brown bag of purple yams. She stowed them in her purse and mounted her bike. She thought she might cruise around town, feeling the wind in her hair. It was a wonderful day, and Martin Ellingham was the sweetest man in the world. As she neared the schoolyard, she spied a suited figure at the bottom of the hill walking toward the Surgery.

It was Martin.

She raced down the hill to catch up to him. Time to reschedule that dinner date.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Buffalo Pictures owns the "Doc Martin" TV series, and all credit goes to them and all the people who make the show what it is. _**

**_I don't own any rights to "Doc Martin," and aren't making any money off it._**

**Thanks again to those of you who have given me feedback on this story, both Visitors and Members, and those of you who have favorited and followed this story. It's because of some of the comments I've received that I've added this part of the story, set between Seasons 3 & 4**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

A little over six months later

Louisa made her way through the crowds at Brixton Tube Station. She was clearly heavily pregnant, but to the busy commuters around her, she might as well have been invisible. She climbed the steep stairs at what seemed like a snail's pace. She felt a brief moment of accomplishment on reaching the top, only to be jostled to the ground. She floundered for a second on the sidewalk, her girth impairing her ability to get up.

A dark hand reached down to help her up.

"I'm terribly sorry, about that Miss," a man said in a West Indian accent. Louisa smiled and pulled on the proffered hand, oblivious to the man's other hand, which was discreetly laying hold of the her purse. His grip was firm, and Louisa was quite dazed. He was sure he could pull of the mugging. Perhaps the woman wouldn't even notice, and no doubt she could afford it. Rich, school teacher type. Probably had a trendy loft somewhere uptown, a husband with a nice cushy job, loads of Connections...she could spare a cheap purse and some cash.

"Thank you." Louisa said. The man started a bit. This woman clearly wasn't from London. He suddenly noticed her hands. No ring. A single woman, probably from the country by the sounds of her, in her late 30s, with a baby-possibly alone. He suddenly felt a wave of guilt.

"Hello?" Louisa said, wondering why the man was looking at her so strangely.

"Umm...you have a nice day miss. Best of luck with the baby," he disappeared into the crowd, empty-handed. Louisa flashed a quick smile and then went on her way.

It'd been a lousy day. She'd woken up sick, again, and forced herself to go to work. Arriving at the posh private school in Kensington, she'd endured the same judgmental looks, the condescending comments, the snobbish snickering from students in the halls.

She'd some to London emotionally fried after her troubles with Martin. The pain of being near him had been too much, especially when he'd seemed to close off entirely, making himself sparse and hardly muttering a word to her for weeks upon end. In the end, secretly angry with his self-imposed isolation, she'd called her friend Holly to arrange a job in London, then quietly left town, sending notes explaining her decision to Martin and a few other friends in town.

London hadn't exactly greeted her with open arms. The flight was short, but her luggage still managed to arrive hours late. She found city life uncomfortable and unpleasant, and the students and teachers patronizing and rude. Despite her extensive qualifications, skill, and experience, she was looked down upon as a country yokel. The Headmaster had even suggested she see a specialist to help her try and erase her Cornish accent, for fear that it might negatively impact students. For a few weeks, she'd felt a dreadful loneliness, yearning for her friends, for the rustic peacefulness of Portwenn, and most of all for Martin. She'd considered going back many times. But then she'd made a friend or too, settled in, picked up some routines. She'd begun to enjoy her autonomy, feel like she could stand on her own too feet. Just the same, she'd avoided registering with a GP.

Discovering she was pregnant had been a bit of a nasty shock at first, but she quickly took a liking to it. She'd always wanted children, and she couldn't bear the thought of having an abortion, of taking that little life. Plus, this baby was part Martin, and deep down inside she cherished that thought. She thought of dropping Martin a call many times. But what would he say? Martin didn't seem to like children much, and she was afraid he might say something truly awful, something that would completely put her off him, or worse make her change her mom about the baby or London, or both. Anyways, Martin was there and she was here, and she wanted to spare her child from the experiences she herself had with her mom, and eventually, her dad-a parent absent for long periods of time, only to randomly show up, reestablish ties, and then leave again, to great harm.

Louisa wandered past the stalls, observing the rich variety of cultures and products represented. She hadn't planned on coming here today. It wasn't on the way home, and though she found the market fascinating, the bustle and the drug pushers that frequented the place often discouraged her from making the long trip over to Brixton. But today was different.

Today, she'd been called into the Headmaster's office for the last of a series of meetings, all of them decidedly unpleasant.

She was to hand in her resignation within two weeks, meaning many of her severance benefits she might normally receive would not apply because she was breaking contract. Otherwise she would be terminated-a black mark on her record.

There had been Complaints from several students' parents, as well, it was implied, as some of the faculty. This school had High Standards after all. It had been discretely hinted to her that if she terminated her pregnancy that these Complaints would be conveniently forgotten.

Disgusted, she'd resigned on the spot.

Now, here she was, unemployed, heavily pregnant, single, 37, with few friends and no real family-her father was in jail and wasn't much comfort in the best of times. She'd written her mother, but there wasn't much hope on that front either. She'd no doubt find another job. There were some low-income state schools in London that would happily hire a well-qualified teacher, even if she was 6 months pregnant. All she needed was the 2 weeks off at hols to have her baby. Perhaps she'd look in the East End-Danny had suggested as much not so long ago. She frowned. Perhaps she'd been overly harsh on him. He was after all a very decent guy. He wouldn't have put her through the drama and heartbreak Martin had. She briefly imagined herself living happily married in some big house-an architects' wife. But she knew it was an illusion-she'd never have been happy with kind, well-meaning, but shallow and conflicted Danny Steel. A look down at her belly flushed away any last thoughts on the matter.

A light rain began to fall.

She headed toward an awning advertizing Afro-Caribbean produce, to escape the wet.

And there they were, right in front of her.

Yams.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Buffalo Pictures owns the "Doc Martin" TV series, and all credit goes to them and all the people who make the show what it is. _**

**_I don't own any rights to "Doc Martin," and aren't making any money off it.  
_****  
Thanks again to those of you who have given me feedback on this story, both Visitors and Members, and those of you who have favorited and followed this story. It's because of some of the comments I've received that I've added this part of the story, set between Seasons 3 & 4.**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

They weren't purple yams of course. These ones were white and much, much larger. But the memories started coming back. To her surprise she didn't find them bitter or cold, but warm and pleasant. This is how she wanted to remember Martin.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

The heavy accent of the produce man intruded on her thoughts.

It'd been such a rotten day. Surely she deserved a pick-me-up-and a healthy one at that. She pointed at two of the smaller yams. "Umm...I'll have these two."

Back at home, she found a recipe for white yams and went to work cooking up a meal. The work was more painstaking than she'd thought. These yams had larger rinds and were much different than the yams Martin had bought her.

Exhausted, she finally sat down to eat.

Immediately she spat it back out again.

It was clear that it was overcooked. She dropped her fork despondently and rested her forehead in her hands.

The memories came like a flood now, and this time, though they were pleasant, idealized, they stung.

The meal Martin had made two nights after their engagement, designed to provide 'optimum nutrition,' as he put it.

The wonderful time they'd shared together in those three precious weeks between the engagement and their would-be wedding day.

The poorly installed cooker and the devastating results.

Martin's profession of love to her that night he was drunk.

Those harrowing 30 minutes in that ambulance with Peter Cronk, where she'd first gotten a clear glimpse past Martin's gruff, impenetrable exterior.

And last, but perhaps most powerfully of all, Martin's comment that she'd make a 'wonderful mother.'

She felt like she'd been struck by lightning. Maybe Martin had wanted kids, a family. They'd never really talked about it. Honestly, Louisa was a bit afraid of what Martin might say. Sure, he was a bit too rough and sarcastic with the kids at the school for her taste, but when they weren't scared to death of him, she'd seen the way they seemed to openly admire him, wowed, much like everyone else, by his tremendous healing powers.

Why had she automatically counted him out? Maybe he would openly embrace the fact that he had a child.

She shook her head. Come to think of it, Martin didn't really 'openly embrace' anything.

On the other hand, when it came to this baby, she really hadn't given him a chance.

She remembered how desperately he had searched to get her a present he thought she'd want. She could only imagine what Martin thought about flowers or chocolates or cards. Flowery excess. He was much more comfortable stating things bluntly, as they were. But for her, he'd been willing to do just about anything.

The more she thought about it, the more her heart ached. She wanted to just make everything right again, erase the past. If only things could be how they were, she could have made do. They'd be married, with a child on the way. Things wouldn't have perfect, but they sure as heck would have been better than they were now.

She tried to stomach another mouthful of yam, forcing herself to swallow it.

Outside someone honked loudly. The voices were mumbled, but she could tell a few choice words were being exchanged.

Louisa suddenly sat up straight..

"You can't just erase the past, or pretend like it didn't happen," Joan had told her once, long ago, on that first miserable birthday after her father had left town. "But you can pick yourself back up and make the most out of the present."

Yes.

Yes, that's exactly what she would do.

She'd tell Martin about his child, _their _child. Try to patch things up, work out what to do next. Her apartment was leased out, but Martin would take her in, let her stay in the Surgery.

Whatever else he might be, she told herself, Martin was a good man and the father of the child she was carrying. And they still loved each other.

At least, she still loved him, as painful as it was too admit to herself.

That had to count for something.

Right?

So it was settled. She would fly to Cornwall as soon as she could, stand on Martin's doorstep and see what he said!

She tossed the rest of the yam in the trash and grabbed her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found Flybe Airlines. After a second's hesitation, she hit the call button.

"Hello. I'd like to book a flight from London Gatwick to Newquay Airport."

Louisa Glasson was going home.

**The End**

* * *

_**Thanks, once again for reading my story and giving me feedback!**_


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